Bring On the Hell
by FallingStarXan
Summary: While the Allies are fighting the Axis on THAT F'ING ISLAND, America gets captured, and Britain heads a mission to get him back, but his plans keep backfiring. Scripted like an anime episode, characterized based on the English Dub. Mild shipping, mostly played for laughs.
1. In Which a Bad Thing Happens to America

**AN: Wow, it's been a long time since I wrote this. I figured I might want to go back and 'remaster' it, since my writing style has changed a bit, and I decided to do away with phonetic accents. Read it in the accents if you like - this story is rather of a love letter to the English dub - but I won't spell them out. It was funny, but not really the best idea, when I came to think of it.**

**Setting: That F'ing Island**

**Chapter 1: In which oddly omnipresent marshmallows and pasta in the stars indirectly cause a very bad thing to happen to America.**

"_Hey!_" The ash-blonde nation indignantly lowered the binoculars and, with a rustle, emerged from the tropical shrubbery. "S'mores are supposed to have _chocolate_ in them! We'll show them!"

Four other figures popped out of their hiding places. "_Huh?_"

"That's right!" America declared. "_We_ can have a campfire too, can't we, boys?"

The others looked at each other. They had a sinking feeling that they would have to go along with this.

So, within a half-hour, they were all huddled together on the beach, poking their marshmallows into the orange flames, listening to Britain's creepy-ass campfire song.

"_Briiiiiing on the fire... Briiiiiing on the hell..._"

America interrupted the quiet spell that was falling over them. "I feel like we're summoning the Devil!" he wailed.

Far across the beach, on another end of the island, three quiet figures were lying around another small, now banked fire. A black-haired young man looked up and pointed at the sky. "I think that group there looks like a ship," he murmured.

"Oh, yeah!" exclaimed one of the others. "I see it, Japan! And that bunch over there looks like a ravioli! And over there it looks just like a bowl of spaghetti! And... hey, Germany, why don't you play, too? It's easy! You just look at the stars and make a picture!"

"I... er..." The third man tried to come up with something quickly. "Er... that group of stars over by the horizon... I think it looks like a... a scarecrow." It was the first thing that came to mind after 'cross', which would have been kind of lame.

"Really?" the second man chirped, brushing red hair out of his eyes. "Hmm... I can't see it..."

"Er... those over there would be the head and the arms, and that bright one right over the land would be the tip of the stick."

"Ohhh," said the red-haired man. "I get it! Nice one, Germany!" He put his hands behind his head and relaxed. "Wow..." he said wonderingly. "That's a really suspiciously bright star on the horizon there, isn't it?"

Germany and Japan sat up straight at the same time and looked at each other.

"That's not a _star!_" they both exclaimed, and reached for their weapons.

Yep. That's right, Allies. So, whose clever idea was it to make a fire again?

**(****_Cue opening credits_****)**

The sun rose.

America opened his eyes heroically; that is to say, he opened his eyes. _What a nice day_, he thought, before he remembered they were in the middle of a war. Well, that was a bummer, but he could maybe put up with it as long as there were hamburgers somewhere around here somewhere, because he was seriously starving. Warm and comfortable, yes, but also starving.

He unwrapped himself from his giant cocoon of blankets and looked over at Britain, who was still asleep next him on the inflatable mattress they were sharing, and curled up in a ball, shivering a little. _Aw_, America thought. _How cute_. He yawned and sat up. "Man, I'm hungry," he said aloud. "I wonder if there's any food around here."

Halfway through a dream about being locked inside refrigerators, Britain heard a voice and woke up.

"Aw, damn," the voice was complaining. "Where did that mysterious bag of factory-made marshmallows that appeared last night out of nowhere when I said we should make s'mores go? Why isn't there anything to _eat?_"

Britain looked down at himself and realized why he had been so cold the whole night. "_What the hell happened to all my blankets?_" he howled.

Then, out of nowhere, he was buried by a massive heap of softness. "Sorry, bro," said America, from somewhere above him. "Here ya go. It's, like, totally weird, but all your blankets seemed to have magically migrated over to my half of the mattress. Guess they just like me better or something."

"_America!_" raged Britain, struggling out of the fabric mountain. "Do you have _any idea_ how cold it was last night? You sheet-stealing Yankee! I'm never sleeping with you again!"

On another mattress, a supposedly sleeping lump burst into bouts of hysterical French laughter.

Too late, Britain realized how he could have better phrased what he'd said. "Shut up, you pervert frog!" he yelled, going beet red.

"_Dude_," mused the oblivious America. "What's _his_ problem?"

"Ah, Britain, do not worry," France said to the enraged English nation, grinning wickedly. "If you have a problem sleeping with _l'Amerique_ you can always share with me, _non?_"

"_Non_," said Britain stiffly. "Definitely going with _non_." Of course France had to say something like that, just to get his goat. Britain was sure he wasn't really the lecherous creep he sometime pretended to be, but he was bloody annoying, and he was French, and overall he was just too much sometimes.

France raised an eyebrow. "Then... perhaps America would like to-"

"_Absolutely not_," Britain snarled.

At the Allied camp, the sleeping arrangements had been very well thought out. There were five nations, and there were three mattresses, each just big enough for two people at most. That meant two pairs and one singleton.

Much to his dismay, France was _unanimously_ voted to have the bed to himself.

"It's not up to _you_," said France to Britain, miffed. "I shall ask him myself."

"No way!" America exclaimed, before anyone said anything else. "I'm not sharing with _him!_"

Britain looked subtly relieved. "That's the first sensible thing you've ever said in your whole life, America."

At the same time, France, looking hurt, asked, "Why not?"

"Oh," America said. "Sorry, France, but... you kinda snore."

They both gave America a long look, and the nation simply smiled back and wandered off to rummage in the supply bags for food.

"How the hell would he know that?" Britain wondered. He sounded like he didn't really want to know the answer, which showed that sometimes he had just as dirty a mind as France did.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

"God, I'm so _hungry_," America kept on whining. "I wanna _burger_."

"Just... shut up, already," snapped Britain. "We haven't got any, all right?"

"Little question?" said Russia, holding up a hand. "Where did those bags of marshmallows go? Why don't we have those?"

"I think America ate them all," China answered, and added, "Which was very rude of him."

"No, no... I mean the actual _bags_," said Russia pensively. "Oh, well. Never mind. Silly thought."

(Interesting side note: The island the nations were on happened to have a special marshmallow spawning ability, among other things, but the trash always vanished like leprechaun gold in the morning. And also, no one ever noticed this except Russia, but he's a little weird, so he isn't bothered much by these kinds of things.)

"This is _tres infortune_," France was moaning. "We have nothing to eat but stale rations and..." He shuddered. "_Scones_."

Britain's head came up indignantly. "This is a bloody _war_ we're in," he said frostily. "You should be _happy_ to have something as nice as a bag of fresh scones."

"They're even _worse_ when they're fresh," France muttered.

"We ought to go foraging for food," said China quickly, before there could be an argument. "There should be some fruit or edible plants we can find here. Who wants to go out looking?"

"_What?_" America asked incredulously. "_Plants? _As in, green healthy stuff like spinach and broccoli? Ew! Gross!"

"Good!" said China, with a steely glint in his eye. "We have a volunteer!"

"Who, me?" asked America. "No way! I can't go! I need to stay here and defend the camp because-"

**~0~0~ ****_Hetalia ~0~0_**

"... because I'm the hero," America grumbled, as he pushed through the jungle undergrowth. "And _heroes_ don't go _fruit picking_. That's what migrant farm workers are for- owww!" A branch he had been holding away from him had snapped back and smacked him on the face. "Jeez!"

As he tramped on, he complained out loud. "This _island_ doesn't seem to like me very much," he said to himself, brushing twigs out of his hair. "It keeps on putting _roots_ out for me to trip over... and growing random _trees_ in my way so I walk right into them... and dropping giant neon green _spiders_ onto my head. This is a total conspiracy! _And_, I still haven't found any food! What does a fah-ru-it _look_ like, anyway?"

(Side note: America, as many of you may know, is not a country that knows what gourmet food looks like. All right, so there _are_ some places like New York City where you can get any kind of dish known to man, but I mean, come on. _That_ probably just means he gets mixed up more often. This is _America_ we're talking about.)

America kept on walking, scanning the trees for any sign of food. But all he kept seeing were weird colorful things hanging from some branches that splatted when you dropped them. Some of them even had spines.

"Hang on," he said suddenly. "What's that weird rustling?"

The weird rustling stopped.

"Huh. Whatever." The nation shrugged and continued on his way.

In the bushes, Germany relaxed and looked at Italy and Japan. "Do you think he will fall for it?" he whispered anxiously.

"Of course he will," Japan reassured him. "This is _America_, remember?"

The currently foraging Allied Power was starting to wonder about all those soft colorful things hanging from branches. Some of them were starting to smell good. "Hey! Maybe these are those _fruit_ things China was talking about!" He picked an orangy-green lump off a tree and sniffed it.

"_Wow!_" he exclaimed. The lump, or fruit, or whatever it was, smelled _delicious_. "I should totally eat the hell out of this thing!" And he started to tear the skin off, but then his attention was diverted by a new smell. America looked around the tree and his eyes lit up behind their thin glasses. "Aha! That's more like it!"

There a small stump in the middle of the clearing, and on it sat a plate of slightly steaming... _pasta?_

"Kinda weird," said America to himself, as he approached the plate. "But, I bet there's some kind of noodle plant that I've never heard of. Yeah! That's it. A pasta plant. I mean, where else does it come from? _Duh_." Dropping the fruit, he eagerly stretched out a hand to take the plate, and took a final step forward.

The second his foot landed, a noose tightened and America was jerked off his feet to dangle in the air from a stout rope wound around his ankle. "AGH!" he shouted. "What the heck is this...? Aw, _crap!_"

The three Axis Powers - Germany, Italy, and Japan - all exploded from their hiding place in a shower of leaves. "Get him!" cried Italy, and then ran over to the stump and rescued his precious pasta. "Japan! Grab his arms!" Germany ordered, trying to fend off America's flailing attempts at blows. "Italy! Stop trying to get the pasta and get the chains! _NOW!_"

"You'll never take me, you stupid Nazi!" America was shouting. "I'm America and I can beat the hell out of you any time I- and where the heck did you get _chains_, anyway?"

"Italy! _Where is mein pistol?_"

"Here!" The nation tossed something Germany's way. He caught it and then swung around, wrapping his fingers around the grip and clicking the safety off in one fluid motion. The barrel of the gun poked right into the forehead of America, who immediately stopped moving. His eyes went very wide.

"_Right_," said Germany, glaring at America. "If you try to scream for help, I will shoot you. If you try to fight back, I will shoot you. If you try to run, I will shoot you. In other words, you will do _exactly_ as I say, or else-"

"You'll shoot me?" squeaked America, whose eyes had crossed trying to look at the end of the gun.

"_SPEAKING IS FORBIDDEN!_" Germany roared. "Now, Italy and Japan. Do you have the chains and the gag?"

In response, the other two held up some chinking lengths of steel and a bandana.

"Excellent," said Germany. "Well done, you two. Italy, as a reward for your surprisingly useful idea, you may eat the pasta. And now, we will tie up our hostage."

"That was surprisingly easy," Japan murmured, as he stuffed the bandana into the frightened America's mouth. "We should have tried this long ago. What do you think the Allies will do to get him back?"

"How about, anything we want?" suggested Italy brightly. He pumped a fist in the air. "Hooray for us!"

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

Towards midday, Britain and Russia returned to base camp at the same time from different directions, both carrying heaping armfuls of fruit. Not long after America was gone, China had decided that everyone else should go foraging as well. And, without bossypants America around to order people around, somehow China had ended up as the one in charge.

"Well, I suppose we won't _starve_," Britain said, dumping the fruit onto the sand by the crates of supplies. He wiped sweat off his forehead. "Who knew this island would have this much food on it?"

"Like the marshmallows?" Russia asked pleasantly, sitting down on top of the crate and stretching, enjoying the sun.

Britain frowned. "What marshmallows?" But he passed it off as one of Russia's freaky moments. "Hold it. Who's supposed to be guarding the camp?" He looked around and spotted a figure sprawled out under a tiny makeshift tent. "_France!_ Wake up, you idiot! You're supposed to be watching over the supplies!"

France crawled out of his spot of shade. "Ah, Britain. I'm so sorry, but I had such a _terrible_ night's sleep. I was so cold and alone..." He made puppy eyes at the other nation.

"Oh, really? I didn't see _you _without any covers because your stupid bedmate stole them all. And speaking of which, where on Earth is America? Shouldn't he be back by now?"

As this was going on, China appeared out of the jungle and jogged over to the group. "Has anyone seen America?" he asked. "Is he still out there?"

"I was just asking that," said Britain. "Bloody fool's probably pigging out on all the fruit he can find under some blasted tree. Why don't we-?"

He stopped.

"What's that?" he asked, and then dove for the scrap of paper that was fluttering out of the corner of the bedsheets. Britain read aloud, with all the Allies peeping over his shoulder,

"_Dear Allies,_

_Surrender now if you ever want to see America again._

_From, the Axis_

_(Deutschland, Nihon, & Italia~)_"

Also, Italy had signed a little heart after his name.

"They've got America..." said Britain numbly. "They've got..." He looked to his left (France) and right (Russia and China). Then, slowly, a maleficent grin appeared on his face. "They've got _America_..."

Russia had a similarly evil smile, and a purple sort of haze seemed to be filling his eyes. France chuckled out loud, and China quirked an eyebrow up.

"No more America," Russia sang quietly.

"No more _hero_ this and _hero_ that," added China.

France joined in. "No more disgusting _hamburgers_ all over the place."

"No more butchering of the English language," said Britain vindictively. "No more orders, no more idiot plans, no more blanket stealing..."

They all were starting to laugh now. "He's probably bring tied up right as we speak, whining about how he doesn't have any food," China told them, satisfied.

"Serve him right," said Britain. "I've had enough of his _insults_ and _arrogance_ and... By Jove, I've a brilliant idea! Where are the binoculars?"

"What do you want to do?" asked Russia, handing them over.

"Well, we know where the Axis are camping, don't we? Why don't we go and take a look? See if America's getting what's coming to him, eh?"

Hearing this, Russia's eyes sparkled. "_Da_," he said gleefully. "I would like to do that _very much_."

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

"Give me the binoculars, France," China hissed. "You've been hogging them the whole time!"

"Ohonhonhon..." France laughed. "Look at you, _Amerique_... I always wondered what you'd look like all tied up..."

China snatched the field glasses away and then looked through them over the edge of the cliff. "There you go," he said, to the far-off prisoner. "And _that's_ what you get for being a total ass."

"Let me see," Russia begged. "I would like to have a look, too."

"All right, all right, one second." China adjusted the focus a little, stared through the glasses a little more, and then handed them over.

Russia seemed to be simply burning with evil purple flame. "Kolkolkolkol..." he said happily. "America, you are too stupid to live..."

Cramped between the others, Britain made a swipe for the binoculars. "Come on, you three. Let _me_ have a look. It was _my_ idea, and I haven't even gotten to see him yet."

"Here you are," said Russia, feeling very benevolent. "Have fun."

Britain put his eyes to the binoculars and zeroed in on America.

The Axis had tied him to a stout palm tree that stuck out among the others in that it was practically _on_ the beach rather than next to it. The nation was almost entirely wrapped in thick steel chains (_where did they get those?_ Britain wondered), and had a gag in his mouth.

America's glasses were askew, but he couldn't reach up to adjust them, and he had a swelling bruise over his cheekbone. His head hung low, and he looked for all the world like a whipped puppy.

Slowly Britain took the binoculars away from his eyes. The European nation's villainous smirk had vanished, and a look of wobbly-eyed distress had, bit by bit, replaced it.

"So, what do you think?" grinned France. "Good, _non?_ Oh, dear." He had seen the Englishman's expression. "I knew it."

"We couldn't just rescue him a _little?_" Britain pleaded pitifully. "Since he's learned his lesson now and all that?"

The remaining three Allies looked at one another and realized they were going to have to go ahead and save America.

"Oh, well," sighed Russia. "It was good while it lasted."

The group ducked back into the bushes.

**_TO BE CONTINUED MAYBE~_**

**(Cue credits and ****_Marukaite Chikyuu_****, America's version)**


	2. In Which Plans Go Pear Shaped

**AN: All right, all right. You got me. I wrote a story with a PLOT, and the anime rarely has any plot to it. I just couldn't stop myself.**

**Chapter 2: In which Russia Is Not Amused, Britain's first two plans go pear-shaped (in different respects of the word), and everyone hates the crab.**

"In other words," said Britain, stabbing the sand with a driftwood pointer, "We have no other option but to get him back." He flipped his free hand palm up, in the traditional gesture of oration. "We're rescuing America because that way, he'll owe us, and he'll have to do whatever we say." He jabbed the end of the stick towards the other nations. "But if we _don't_ rescue him," he went on, "Who knows what could happen? He could give away all our secrets to the Axis in a moment of weakness. Maybe they're trying to extract information from him already. They could be torturing him in unspeakable ways or starving him or forcing him to sleep out in the cold all tied up..."

"_Oui, oui_, Britain, we all _know_ how _worried_ you are about the boy," said France. His tone oozed boredom like the way the mango he was holding oozed juice. "If you have a point to make, then by all means-"

"My _point_," Britain said sharply, slashing the pointer around to smack the piece of fruit out of France's hand, "Is that the most important thing to do right now is make a plan to save America. And I am not _worried_ about him," he snapped, nearly poking France's eye out with the stick. "I don't _care_ what happens to that little twat. What I care about is winning this war, and we can't _win_ without America."

"That is true," said China primly. "I need him to keep Japan away from my borders. But unless you have a plan about what we're going to do to rescue him..."

"That's what I was _getting to!_" Britain exclaimed. "What do you think I've been doing with this _stick_ the whole time?"

"Hm... I think scraping it in sand a lot," said Russia. "And... pointing it at people?"

"_Scraping_ it in the _sand?_ I was drawing a _tactical_ _map_, you blind oafs!"

All the other nations stood up to try and get a better view of the purported diagram.

"That's a _map?_" asked China incredulously. "Then what on Earth is _that_ symbol supposed to be? A beached whale with its insides spilling out?"

"_Non, non_, China, I believe it is a representation of an abstract principle..."

"Don't be stupid, France. Look, that would be its fin-"

"What would be the point of drawing a whale...?"

Britain stamped his foot. "It's not a bloody whale! That bit over there isn't even part of it! How can you not...?"

"_I_ know," said Russia, with a toothy smile. "It's supposed to be me, isn't it? Look, that is my scarf which I am wearing right now, see?" He awarded an especially evil stare to Britain, who was starting to feeling very exposed, then turned to China and France.

The two nations looked at each other, as they realized how this was not going to go well for either of them. They stood in a kind of horrified trance for a few seconds.

Then China frowned. "No... that's not it... look at that tail..."

"_What_ tail?" demanded Britain, and then he looked down. There was a little line through his drawing where a crab had scuttled through on its way to the ocean.

"You blasted crustacean!" Britain yelled, chasing after it. "You sideways-strutting, stupid scrap of shelled sea-spam! You _ruined_ my map!"

**(****_Cue opening credits_****)**

**_Britain's Rescue Plan Journal!_**

**_Plan A!: The Stealth Strike!_**

"A moonless night has fallen over these accursed shores," whispered Britain, in his eeriest voice. He cracked his knuckles one by one. "And now the time has come to venture through the dark-"

"What are you _talking_ about?" China snapped. "Stop acting so strange and put these on."

Britain turned around hurriedly and looked at the package of clothes China was holding out. "Why? What's wrong with _my_ uniform? It's dark green! That uniform's dark green! What's the difference?"

"Well, according to Russia, it 'isn't the right dark green'... just humor him, Britain, he spent the whole day making these."

"Who ever said he was the best _spy_?" demanded Britain irritably, as he took the clothes. "What am I, then? Chopped liver? I tell you, there's not one of you lot who's better at covert operations than-"

"Me!" Russia's creepy smile seemed to appear out of the gloom like the grin of a Cheshire cat. "So, you like the clothes?"

Britain shrieked. "_Where the heck did you come from?_" He blinked, and then spun around. "Where... where is he?"

"Right here," Russia told Britain from _right behind him_. "See how clever? So hard to see, _da?_ That is why _I_ make spy outfits. Oh. I am forgetting. I have to fetch some things. Goodbye for now." And then he seemed to vanish again.

Britain was quivering. "I-is he st-t-ill angry about th-that d-drawing?" he stuttered.

"He is always angry about _something_," China said, shuddering as well. "He just never shows it until he _gets_ you."

"_Gets _you?" Britain squeaked. "What do you mean, _gets_ you? Oi! China! Where did you-?"

But China had disappeared as well. Britain figured now would be a very good time to put on these camouflage clothes. They really _did_ seem to work.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

The night really _was_ dark. And, to top it off, a dank mist had risen off the ocean, so it was officially impossible to see anything more than a few feet in front of you.

A few feet was just enough. America had been heroically captured, and now was his chance to heroically escape. With... a rusty nail that had washed up on the beach. Well, you had to make do, right? He stuck his foot out an inch further, wishing that he was the kind of hero with stretchy superpowers, like Mr. Fantastic or something.

"C'moooonnn..." he whispered. "Al... most... theeeerrree..." The tip of his boot was just a hair's width away from the scrap of metal.

Then _something _scuttled over his foot, and he let out a muffled yelp and yanked his leg back. The something flipped off his boot, somehow managed to pick up the nail, and scrambled away.

After he got over the shock from witnessing an unpleasantly improbable event, America sat in his chains and seethed. "I'll get you for that, crab," he swore. "You and I are officially _arch_ _nemesises_."

Something about how that last word had come out sounded wrong, but he couldn't quite put a finger to it. "Nemesis... esss..." he tried. "Nemeses? Nemesi?"

There was a weird rustling in the bushes.

"Not _again!_" he muttered. "From now on, I _hate_ weird rustling!"

"Ahhh," said Italy, who had suddenly appeared out of the mist right next to America's tree. He was holding a lantern. "You mean like the kind where people have funny macho names and dress up in stupid clothing and try to strangle each other!"

America stared at the little nation. "_What?_" he said, bemused. "No, no! Not weird _wrestling!_ Weird... ugh, never mind..."

"Oh. Well, I just came over to say that I made dinner and... would you like to have some pasta?" He stuck out a hand, and on it was a plate (_where_ did they get plates?) heaping with spaghetti.

Every bone and organ in America's body (most powerfully his stomach) itched to scream, "HELLS YES I WANT IT!" but his brain was also yelling at him, _Don't trust the pasta! Remember last time! Don't eat it! It could be drugged or poisoned or filled with broken glass! This is the Axis of Evil here! Don't trust their damn pasta!_

"I'm not hungry," said America, looking hungrily at the plate. His stomach growled.

"Oh, okay," said Italy, looked disappointed. "Should I leave it here for you, then?"

"No," America said, before his stomach could take control of his brain. "I don't want your pasta."

Italy shrugged and wandered away. "Hey, Germany!" he called. "America doesn't want his pasta! Can _I_ have it?"

As America salivated and thought of food, the bizarre rustling started up again. He tried to see through the trees, but it was so dark and foggy, he couldn't even see what was right in front of his face. And Italy's lantern had knocked out his night vision.

There was a _smack!_ and a half-muffled curse word. "Get off me- oh, _bugger!_"

"Hey..." said America. His heart soared. "Is that you? No way! Oh my g- _Britain?_"

"_Shh! _Don't talk so loud, you fool!" hissed a voice fiercely back, but it was too late. Across the beach, Japan and Germany had heard him and leapt to their feet, racing over to the treeline. America tried to put out a foot to trip one of them, but missed his chance in the dark.

There was the sound of a scuffle coming from the forest (or, from where the forest _should_ be, unless it had gotten up and walked away - America really couldn't see enough to tell). He listened to it with a dumbstruck expression. Somehow he'd gotten into his head the idea that they weren't coming for him. But there they were.

"Kick Axis!" America shouted. "Come on! Beat 'em up!" But it was really hard to tell who was beating up whom.

Eventually, Germany and Japan emerged, both looking very confused. America made a face at them and stuck out his tongue.

For some odd reason, it almost sounded like there was still fighting going on, even with the two Axis nations out of the forest. America tried to trip up Germany, again, but missed, again. And then that horrible crab started to crawl up his leg.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

Britain half-walked, half-crawled back to the Allied end of the island, which America had once named the Beach of Freedom, Democracy and Justice. Once, Britain would have scoffed at the name, but now it almost seemed... sweet.

Much sweeter than the giant lump swelling on his head.

"So sorry about that," Russia was saying, patting him on the shoulder in a kindly, or, "kindly" way. "You put some ice on it, okay?"

For any other nation, Britain would be cursing him out right now, but... well, being nearly strangled and pummeled to death in the dark by a giant menacing figure definitely put a curb in his usual foul-mouthed enthusiasm.

"So, anyone want to explain why that went pear-shaped?" asked Britain, slumping onto his mattress (it was _all_ his now, he couldn't help thinking). "And why we all started going for each _other_ instead of the Axis?"

Everyone knew the answer. It was because those damn invisibility suits had worked _too well_.

France groaned and fell to the ground face-first, muttering something in his own language. He looked up for a second to say, "If anyone tries to tell _me_ that I have to do that another time I shall _never speak to them again for my entire life_," and then his blond head hit the sand.

"Just out of curiosity, who hit me in the stomach and stepped on my fingers?" asked China.

"Um. That could have been me," said Britain. "Terribly sorry, and so on." He closed his eyes and put a hand over his face. Then, Britain jarred and nearly had a heart attack. Russia was suddenly looming over him, forcibly pulling his head back. "Ggghhh," Britain rasped.

"Ice," said Russia brightly, and pressed a huge freezing block onto Britain's forehead. "Here you go. All better, _da?_"

" 'ank you," grunted Britain, his expression a mask of terror. "Y-yes. B-better." But he was thinking, _You hit me on purpose, didn't you, you red Commie bastard? You _knew_ it was me_.

Once Russia had disappeared again, Britain sidled up to China. "How can you stand sleeping right next to that bloke?" he whispered. "How do you _bear_ it?"

China pointed at his and Russia's mattress. "Simple. Same thing as I did thousand of year ago. Great Wall."

"Of pillows," said Britain. He looked at the soft line that divided the mattress neatly in two. "A Great Wall of Pillows."

"Exactly. It keeps them out very nicely."

"I see," said Britain. "And, I think we need a Rescue Plan B."

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

**_Plan B!: The Fruit Man!_**

It was mid-noon again. Britain was putting the finishing touches on what he believed to be his greatest masterpiece yet. Of course, France had helped him slightly with the artistic aspect, but he wouldn't ever admit that.

"Doesn't it look _just_ like him?" he said, grinning, sticking a little fern on the top right where the lock of hair called Nantucket was on America's own head.

The decoy America had been almost lovingly crafted out of burlap, fruit, vines, stick, shells, and anything else Britain could get his hands on. A coconut shell, some rocks, and several other bits of fruit made the contours of the face, and pineapple leaves and seaweed made up Fruit America's hair. Wire and sea glass had been used to make Texas, his spectacles.

"I believe you are far too proud of this, _Angleterre_," France told him skeptically. "And it is a waste of our good fruit, don't you think?"

"We're using it for a good cause," Britain said irritably. "And the island has plenty left. It bloody well grows on trees, doesn't it?"

"If you say so," France shrugged. Then he gave Britain a smirk. "I never would have thought you would be that, er, knowledgeable about _l'Amerique_ and his appearance. You have reproduced him _exactement_."

"Of course I know what he looks like!" Britain snapped. "He used to live with me, you dolt. Now go make yourself useful somehow. If we're really going to make them think America's escaped then we've got to find some way of getting him, too."

China and Russia strolled up. "I think I like this America more than the real one," said Russia. "He is so quiet and easy to control."

"Honhon... I bet 'e doesn't steal bedcovers," said France with a wink, and Britain guiltily remembered how warm and comfortable it had been last night, with the mattress all to himself.

"And he is so _nutritionally healthy_," China added with a chuckle, reaching out to poke the banana nose. Britain slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch that bit! It's not pinned in place yet!" Britain spread his arms out to protect his hard work, and shooed the others away.

Once they had reluctantly wandered off, Britain turned back to the decoy. "Don't let them get to you, Fruit America," he said consolingly, putting a hand on the stick-and-sacking shoulder. "They're just jealous of your good looks and inherent usefulness." Britain adjusted leaf-Nantucket. "The only opinion that matters is mine? Really? Well, that's very sweet of you to say that, Fruit America..."

Britain heard the unpleasant sound of suppressed mirth coming from behind him. "_Piss off, frog!_" he yelled, mortified.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

If the stupid crab hadn't stolen the nail, America would be free by now. That was what he liked to tell himself. He sat in the hot sun on the hot sand and fried a little, both from irritation and from UV light.

The Axis Powers were so sickeningly dull. Italy ran around and swam and sang songs and snuggled Germany, who pretended to be annoyed but, as far as America could guess with his limited social senses, probably wasn't at all. Germany himself didn't do much but sit around and read books and make battle plans that America couldn't see and wouldn't understand if he _could_ see them, and Japan seemed to like doing absolutely nothing as well.

"You guys are so _boring!_" America shouted at them. "Get a life!" Then he sat back and listened to his stomach grumble. He started to wish that he'd accepted some food after all, but then he reminded himself that he giving in to base needs was exactly what they would want him to do.

If he could catch that crab, he might be able to kill it and eat it. It might require some extreme contortions of his limbs to bring his hands to his mouth, but the satisfaction might be worth it. Even if the thing was raw. Although, if he let it sit out in the sun long enough, it might actually cook itself. America began to try working his arm out of its chain, because even if that wouldn't help him escape, he could still take revenge on that damn crab. It seemed to keep showing up out of the corner of his eye every so often. He was _sure _it was the same one.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

Evening came, and the sun set.

America was hungrier than before. Down the beach, the Axis had lit a fire and were cooking something. The smell of food wafted its way up to America, mocking him with its deliciousness. Even if they _did_ offer him any, he wouldn't take it (so he told himself). But it looked like they weren't thinking about their prisoner right now, anyway. Which was good, because America had freed one arm, and could now reach all the way to the tree line.

One by one, the stars came out. There would be three nights of no moon - this was the second, now.

And now America smelled something else. It was that funny sweet scent again, one of the ones that screamed _eat me!_ in the loudest possible voice.

"That smells like it's coming from over in the bushes," America said to himself. "How freaky is that? I wonder what's in there?" He reached out as far as he could, straining against the chains, and scrabbled around.

His hand emerged with a giant floppy mess of bramble and sticks and who knew what else. It was weirdly shaped, and a bit rumbled up by being dragged out of the bushes so unkindly, but America wasn't paying attention to that. He didn't notice the bizarre shape, because the smell of fruit was much more powerful. His vision was practically swimming with hunger.

"_Awesome!_" He began to pull the edible bits out of the lump, which within seconds had lost quite a bit of its original shape. Throwing the rest back into the greenery, America shoveled the fruit into his mouth, relishing the texture of the sugary flesh.

Soon, America was licking the last of the juice off his fingers, almost feeling content. Perhaps it was simply from hunger, but he felt he had never tasted anything so delicious in his life.

He was in his own little self-satisfied world of bliss, and so he didn't hear what someone else in his position might have - a sudden horrified gasp coming from the region of the bushes where the weird lumpy thing had been.

Britain raged all the way back to the Beach of FDJ, carrying the body of his late creation in his arms. "He bloody well _ate_ Fruit America's head!" he was howling. "Ate it clean off! That murderer! _I'll never forgive him!_"

**_TO BE CONTINUED~_**

**(Cue credits and ****_Marukaite Chikyuu_****)**

Now the Allies were sitting around their campfire, watching Fruit America's ashes ascend to the heavens.

"Do not despair, Britain," said France soothingly. "These things happen sometimes. 'e lived a good life."

"Oh, shut up," Britain grumbled, kicking the sand.

China thoughtfully took a bite out of what had once been Fruit America's nose. (They'd salvaged what they could.) "Britain, your plans are getting more and more absurd. You are starting to act just like America used to."

Britain jumped to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at China. "You take that back! I'm _nothing_ like that cold-hearted cannibal!"

"Your ideas are," said China, unfazed. He looked at Britain admonishingly. "You are simply letting your emotions take control of you."

"_Emotions?_" Britain stamped up and down in fury, his arms suddenly waving about wildly. "I haven't got any blasted emotions in this! I don't have any emotions about America! Why do you people always think that I have some kind of _thing_ with America? I don't even know what the hell you're talking about! I don't..."

"I didn't say anything about how you feel about America," China said crisply, crossing his arms. "My point is simply that you are trying too much and pushing yourself too hard." He looked at Britain suspiciously. "So, why would you think I was-?"

"Oh, there you go!" Britain yelled, throwing up his hands, and then slumped back onto his seat on the driftwood log.

The fire burned and died down, and the Allies began to prepare to go to sleep. As he stood up, a thought struck Britain, and he called the others over. "Listen," he said. "I know my last two plans didn't go very well, mostly because of _unforeseen complications_, but we can do more than that, can't we?"

"Can we?" asked France, scratching his head.

"Yes!" Britain dropped his voice to a whisper. "We've tried things the soft way, but I think now it's time to show the Axis what we're capable of." He smacked a fist into his palm, and his green eyes glittered. "They've left us no other choice but to use..." Britain's eyes darted back and forth, and he licked his lips. "_Dark magic_."


	3. In Which America Floats

**Chapter 3: In which America floats, English cooking is inflicted on others, and France is worried about Britain's mental state.**

The Beach of Freedom, Democracy, and Justice had a lot going on in it the next day, what with Britain gathering plants and stones and drawing half-finished pentagrams and trying to persuade everyone that this was really going to work.

"I need some eye of newt," he told France, with a glower that meant, 'do what I say or I will throw an unmanly fit of rage that you will wish you had never seen.'

France rubbed his chin. "_Do_ newts have eyes? I thought they were blind..."

"No, of course they don't have eyes! That's the point! It's _magical!_ And it's in that little green bottle in my bag and don't you _dare_ rummage through my things..."

"Oh, I would not _dream_ of it, _Angleterre_," said France, like he didn't mean it, before swanning off to, yes, rummage through Britain's things.

Britain kicked sand over another mystical diagram. "Damn it!" he said. "None of my usual spells will work! I don't have the right ingredients to perform them here!"

"Which ones are out?" China asked.

"Well, we don't have the materials for most of the death spells... Most of my offensive arsenal is gone because we're stuck on this stupid island, so I've got to improvise." He pressed a fist to his forehead, deep in thought. "_He_llo... there's an idea... What if I used a _palm_ leaf instead of an _oak_ one?" Britain mused. "Would that spell still work...?"

"_I_ don't know." said China. "This is _your_ area of expertise."

Britain shook himself back into reality. "That was _rhetorical_," he said. "But, anyway, there are some ingredients that _can't_ be replaced. So, unless someone has some bottled virgin's tears then we won't be able to turn anyone into toads or lizards or anything like that..."

France came strolling up with the green bottle of eye of newt. "Virgin's tears?" he snorted. "Simple! All we need to do it smack Britain around a little or... does anyone have any onions? We could make him cut tem up..."

"From a _female_ virgin!" shouted Britain. "If you're _quite_ done mocking my personal life, France!"

"So, we use China then?" asked Russia, giving the nation a nudge.

The Asian nation bristled. "_Aiyaa! _That's! Not! _Funny!_"

**(****_Cue opening credits_****)**

**_Britain's Rescue Plan Journal!_**

**_Plan C!: Use the Dark Arts!_**

The Allies gathered on the very edge of the cliff, watching the three Axis Powers and the chained-up America through binoculars. "I think I've got everything I need," Britain told them. He grinned. "Let's get on with it, then. Let's try the soporific first. We'll cast a sleeping spell over the Axis that's so strong they won't wake up if we blew a fanfare in their ears. And they won't be able to stop us when we rescue America."

He raised his wand, pulled up the hood of his wizard's cloak, and started to mutter something under his breath that went a bit like this:

"_Bonus dormiensque numen,_

_Inter terram Stygius flumen,_

_Cucurrit et nos dividemus,_

_Ergo in ripas nostras manemus,_

_Duc iam ad litoro somno,_

_Quemcumque ego nomino,_

_Vocabo his nomines statim,_

_Then I'll go and let you at 'em._" **(1)**

Britain waved his wand and hurriedly gestured to the others to do their bit. Russia half-heartedly shook a small bag full of leaves in the air, China broke a fish bone in half and threw one of the pieces in the air, and France, looking bored as usual, handed Britain an acacia thorn. The nation took it, steeled himself, and prodded the thorn into the end of his left index finger. A tiny bit of blood welled up, and, wincing, he squeezed the end of his finger until three red drops had landed on the wand.

"_C'est brut_," said France, wrinkling his nose. "That's disgusting."

"_Germania, Pretium_ **(2)**,_ et Italia,_" said Britain a bit loudly, flapping a hand at France to keep him quiet.

"So, what's supposed to happen-?" China began, before Britain shushed him violently.

A strange mist was rising out of the tip of Britain's magic wand, and wafting down the cliff to where the Axis were sitting.

"Holy hell," said China. "I think it's _working_."

"Of course it's working," snapped Britain. "Magic always works. It just doesn't always work in the way you _expect_. But it will always do something... all right, now hand me those binoculars. Let me see if they've started to nod off yet."

He placed the glasses to his eyes and peered through.

"That's weird," mumbled Britain uncomfortably. "They don't look like they're getting sleepy. Perhaps it's... simply a delayed effect." He tried for a laugh. "Of course it is. What am I thinking?"

France snatched the binoculars away. "Of course _not_. Do not be so stupid. The spell did not work, and the is because magic is not real, _mon ami_."

"But... you _saw _something happen!" Britain exclaimed. "How _can_ you say it's... oh, give me those!" Britain yanked the glasses back and practically jabbed them into his eyes sockets. "There must be _some _effect!" He scanned the beach furiously, looking for any sign of...

"Oh, _blast_," said Britain.

Secured snugly in his chains, America was slumped against the palm tree, snoring his head off.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

**_Four spells later..._**

"It _did_ work!" Britain protested, for the fifth time. "It just _misfired_, that's all!"

"That is what is called _collateral_," muttered China.

Britain put his hands to his face. "I don't _understand_," he moaned. "Why did all my spells latch on to America?" He angrily scuffed up the pentacle on the ground. "It's not fair! Just because I had to replace a few ingredients... they all should have worked exactly as they were supposed to, regardless!"

"I suppose it is fortunate that _Amerique_ was asleep the whole time," said France. "I would not have liked to be him otherwise."

"Yes, that's probably true," Britain admitted despondently. "I think they wear off within about hour or so. At least America won't stay unconscious, unreasonably happy, paralyzed, weightless, and stopped in time for too much longer."

China looked back through the binoculars at his chained-up ally. Due to the effects of one very odd spell, America was floating a few inches off the ground. He also had a line of drool coming from his mouth that was frozen in place like an icicle, and a giant grin on his face.

Despite himself, China sniggered a little, and then tried to pass it off as a cough.

"Perhaps you were thinking too much about him," suggested France. "This is how magic works, _non?_ It is about belief."

"What would you know about magic?" cried Britain. "Just twenty minutes ago you didn't even think it was real!"

"Well... that was twenty minutes ago... and you did not answer my-"

"Speaking of time passing and things like that, I am getting a little hungry just sitting here," said Russia. "I think it would be good idea to go back and have some lunch." He looked at Britain. "Unless you want to keep putting funny spells on America. I will stay for that."

"No, no..." Britain waved a hand at the others. "You go on and have lunch. I'm staying. Someone has to make sure that..." Since he hadn't come up with the end of that sentence, he was relieved when the other three nations excused themselves rather quickly.

Britain sighed and settled down with the binoculars. "Probably they're just relieved that I won't try to make lunch for them," he said sadly. "No one ever seems to appreciate my cooking, even if it is the best in the world. Not even _you_, Frozen Floating Happy America. Not anymore." He rubbed his chin and adjusted the focus on the glasses.

France burst out of the greenery behind Britain. "All right, tat's enough!" he exclaimed, with a hint of hysteria in his voice. "That habit of yours is becoming pathological! And creepy!"

"Augh! Go away!" Britain shrieked.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

(Side note **(3)**: Britain, as you may have noticed, has a habit of making imaginary friends instead of real ones. This is because Britain isn't exactly the kind of guy most people want to make friends with. He tends to be rude and standoffish, and he's got a long history of taking control of poor, defenseless regions of the world and exploiting them.

Take India, for example. When Britain showed up at India's door, India had a long and powerful history, but mean Mister Britain managed to turn this country into a colony by letting businesses like the East India Company basically run things for a little while, and then engineering a rebellion so he could come in and take full control. How rude! And _then_, he made all the Indians grow things like opium for him so he could sell it to places like China and then wage war with them when they didn't want to buy his illegal drugs! Double-you tee eff!

~ "Ha! I know, right?" ~

Oh, shut up, Belgium. _You're_ one to talk.

So basically, people are a little wary of Britain, even if he really does have a good heart underneath it all. Or, that's what they say. But _they_ say a lot of things, don't they? Like how it makes sense that 'tall' Starbucks coffee is the smallest order, and how jet contrails are actually neurotoxins sprayed over cities by the government to make people stupid. As if they needed it.)

Britain did feel a little hungry, but he somehow felt guilty about having accidentally put all those spells on America, and the least he could do was stay and make sure nothing bad happened to him.

"I suppose it's _lucky_, then, that I couldn't use any of my really nasty spells," Britain said to himself. He sighed again. "Poor America. It seems like we're doing more harm to him than the Axis are. I wonder why they haven't started torturing him yet?" Smiling a little, Britain added ruefully, "Although from what everyone else seems to think, the worst harm I could possibly do to America would be to make him lunch."

Then the lightbulb went on. "Now _there's _an idea!" said Britain, grinning. "And in the state he's in, America won't be able to bodge this one up!" He stared through the binoculars, searching until he found the Axis. It looked as though they hadn't eaten yet. Italy was just making a fire.

"_Perfect_," said Britain, laughing evilly. "They'll never know what hit them."

**_Plan D!: Poison Them With Bad English Cooking!_**

After their lunch, France, Russia, and China returned to the cliff. France went ahead with a bowl of stew for Britain. He did not explain his uncommon charity to the others, only that he was "very worried about the man." And he looked it, too.

"Britain?" he called. "Are you still here? I brought you something to eat..."

"Well that's rather unexpectedly kind of you," said Britain, suddenly appearing from behind a tree and taking the bowl from a startled France. "Is it a bribe or an apology?"

After he got over his shock, France remembered what his point had been. "Neither," he said honorably. "Britain, you have been acting _bizarrement _ever since America was taken captive, and I think that there is more to it than simply your desire to win the war. If there is something that you wish to-"

"This is quite good," Britain interrupted, gesturing to the stew. "I didn't think things like raw fish and mangoes would go very well together, but I suppose everything tastes good when you're hungry and desperate."

_That explains much,_ France thought. _Britain must be always hungry and always desperate._

"Well, it's certainly a far better lunch than the Axis are going to have," Britain went on, with a knowing smirk.

"And how would you know that?" asked France suspiciously. "Oh, _mon dieu_... you didn't work another spell, did you?"

China and Russia were just arriving at the cliff. "He did more magic?" asked Russia, disappointed. "I didn't see it?"

"No, no!" laughed Britain. "I didn't use magic! That's why it's so brilliant! Come on over, and I'll tell you." He waited until the others had gathered around in their spying spot right above the Axis camp. "While you lot were off having lunch," he explained smugly, "I foraged a little more, I used what I found to make the most disgusting food I possibly could, and mashed it up into a sauce! Then I snuck down to the beach and used my fearsome spy techniques to get close to where the Axis keep _their_ food supplies, and poured the sauce over it all! And they're just sitting down for lunch right now!"

Even France was duly impressed by this display of lateral thinking. Of all the people he could think of with the ability to poison people with food, the person that came to the front of his mind was always Britain.

"That's actually quite clever and resourceful," said China. "So does that mean you have finally admitted to yourself that your culinary skills are terrible?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Britain said stiffly.

China shook his head slowly. "Forget it."

Down on the beach, Italy was cheerfully passing out plates of pasta, babbling as usual. "Guess what, Germany?" he was saying. "I've figured out how to hold a gun the right way and I found this cute bird's nest over by the rocks and do you know why the sky is blue and..."

Germany patiently waited until this happy tirade was over. At least America had been relatively quiet for the last hour. He had wondered at first if their captive had somehow managed to escape, but when he looked over, he saw that he was just sleeping. A strange thing to do in the middle of the day, but then, it was perhaps normal for people like him. Italy, he remembered, also did that.

Still contemplating this, he stuck his fork into the pasta and then put it in his mouth. Japan did the same thing at the same time.

Their expressions simultaneously became ones of great surprise. Very slowly they turned to look at each other.

On the cliff, the Allies waited with bated breath. Britain and France were actually sharing the binoculars, one eye each.

"This is _delicious!_" said Germany.

"Quite delectable," agreed Japan. "How did you do it, Italy-san?"

"_WHAT?_" shrieked the Allies as one man. Somehow no one heard them.

Italy looked surprised but pleased. He blushed. "Well, it's the same as we had before... I didn't really do anything different..."

Germany actually smiled. "Vell, then it is as good as before but we did not notice it then," he said, putting a hand on Italy's shoulder.

The little nation's face went bright red and he sat down quite heavily with a thump next to his ally. "You... you mean that...?" Tears sprouted in the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, yeah, flirt, flirt!" hollered America from his tree. "I suppose you jerkwads aren't going to think about giving _me_ anything to eat, huh? No, you're too busy making goo-goo eyes at each other!"

Japan sighed and marched over. "I thought you didn't want to eat any of our food," he said, in a long-suffering manner.

"Hrmph." said America, trying to cross his arms but failing because of the chains. "Well... I changed my mind." For some reason he was in a very bad mood. It was like he had come down from several kinds of highs at once. Including a gravitational one, which was weird. And now he was very hungry.

On the top of the cliff, Britain was banging his head against a nearby tree, and France was trying to stop him.

"How! The hell! Did! That happen!?" Britain was wailing, in between thumps. "It doesn't! Make any! _Sense!_"

"Britain! Stop that childish behavior right now! You are hurting yourself!"

"I don't care!" Britain moaned. "They _liked_ it! They actually _liked _it!" He started to cry. "That's the first time anyone's ever complimented my cooking, and I was trying to poison them with it! _Why does it have to be like this?_"

**_TO BE CONTINUED~_**

**(Cue credits and ****_Marukaite Chikyuu, _****England's version)**

**AN: So, footnotes...**

**(1) I know you may choose not to believe me, but I did all that on my own, without using Google Translate. So that's why the grammar might be a little off. But it was fun. It's Latin, if you were wondering. Roughly it translates to:**

**"Good sleeping spirit,**

**The river Styx under the earth,**

**Runs and divides us,**

**So we remain on our own banks,**

**Now lead to the shores of sleep**

**Whomsoever I name,**

**I will call these names immediately,**

**Then I'll go and let you at 'em."**

**That first part is basically telling the spirit of Sleep to stay on his side of Hell and not get out into the world and cause trouble. I thought that bit would be important in any spell, and I needed a rhyme. :)**

**(2) 'Pretium' means 'Japan' in Latin (here I did use Google Translate).**

**(3) Read this part in that awesome announcer woman's voice. Also, if you're wondering what she's talking about, I'm referencing the British occupation of India, the Opium Wars with China, and briefly the Belgian Congo. Look 'em up.**


	4. In Which Britain Gets a Nosebleed

**AN: I planned this to be the last chapter, until I realized that it would be too long. So instead of a four-part story, it's a five-part story. Enjoy, rejoice, review, etc.**

**Chapter Four: In which Britain gets a nosebleed, America's heroic escape is thwarted, and more sorcery is performed.**

"I still haven't given up on using magic," Britain said as they marched back to base camp. He was calmed down slightly, but still had a slightly wild look in his green eyes. "There's got to be some way of making the spells stop sticking to America and go after the Axis instead."

France winced. "Britain, I... I do not think that more magic would exactly be a _bonne idée_..."

"It's the best shot we've got! Why not take it?"

"Because it keeps going _wrong_," said China. "That's why."

Britain put a hand to his forehead. "But so does _everything else!_ Why don't we just give up, then?"

"A good idea," China said immediately. "Finally you are making sense. I think we should-"

"That was _sarcasm!_" Britain told him angrily. "You said yourself that you needed America to fight Japan! What happened to that?"

China turned around and waved an admonishing finger in Britain's face. "This rescue operation is costing us too much. We cannot keep wasting our resources, even if it is to help a fellow ally. America will just have to find way to escape on his own. End of discussion." He nodded curtly and turned to walk away,

"No! Not the blasted end of discussion!" Britain leaped forward and blocked China's path. "Let me try just one more spell," he insisted. "I've got an idea."

"You keep having these ideas," observed Russia. "And... they all end not so good. Why is new idea going to be any better?"

"Because... well, if America's acting as some kind of spell magnet, then maybe we're trying the wrong approach. Instead of trying to work spells on the _Axis_, we could target _America_ instead. Use a spell on _him_ to get him out, instead of trying to incapacitate the others."

France looked suspicious. "What are you suggesting, then?"

"How about a teleportation?" Britain offered. "They're a bit tricky and I'm missing some ingredients, but it could work if we switch the operative clause-"

"_Non, non_, you see, Britain, when you say things like that, 'It _could_ work', and 'Switch the operative clause', zen I start to think, this will not end well for the Allies Powers..."

"_Please_," Britain whispered.

Slowly, France raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"I said, please," mumbled Britain, a bit louder.

"Couldn't hear you..." sang France, who was clearly enjoying this.

"_Please!_"

France looked Britain up and down. "And what will you do for me if I agree?"

Britain glared. "I'll give you a giant shipload of money," he said, thinking, _I can probably get America to pay France off when this is all over. After all, he'll owe me._

"That is all?" France asked, sounding disappointed.

"Yes. A shipload of money. Take it or leave it."

France thought for a moment. "One spell, then?"

"It'll work. I promise you."

In the background, China turned to Russia and said, "I'll bet you one thousand yuan it will backfire on the Axis."

"Are you crazy? No way. I think it will not work at all. One thousand yuan is about five thousand rubles, no? It's a bet."

They shook hands, and afterwards they both surreptitiously wiped their palms on their clothing.

**(****_Cue opening credits_****)**

**_Britain's Rescue Plan Journal!_**

**_Plan E!: Just One More Spell!_**

Britain was watched with extreme skepticism as he etched out another pentagram on the ground. He had been so careful this time. He'd even tested the spell on that damn crab, over and over until the thing was so dizzy it walked straight for once in its life. This was going to _work_, he told himself angrily.

He didn't tell anyone about what happens when you use too much magic in one go, because he swore to himself that he could handle it. He did bigger magic than this, right? All the time. This was kid stuff.

"What do you think we should do if one of the Axis is transported through instead?" China asked in a hushed voice.

"We hit him over the head with large stick," Russia said complacently.

"Good plan," China agreed. "Then we can have hostage of our own."

Russia had his little purple aura hanging around his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of, 'hit him until his skull cracks open,' _da?_"

_Yes, you would be thinking that_, China said silently. "Don't you think it would be better for us if we kept them alive?" he asked weakly.

"Can we torture them?" asked Russia. "Because then that could be pretty fun..."

"Possibly," said China.

"Of course not!" France exclaimed, at the same time. He turned to China. "Really! How could you say such a thing? Prisoners must be treated with respect and courtesy!" He sniffed, and crossed his arms.

"I think I have a feeling of what _you_ would do to a prisoner," China said under his breath.

France heard him. "I would never!" he protested.

"Shut up, you lot," said Britain. "The spell is all prepared. Now, just make sure you aren't standing in the pentacle at all." He shooed them to the edges of the clearing, took a breath, and began to chant.

At first there seemed to be no effect. But, it took about a minute for the teleport spell to work - they'd seen that before with the crab. Eventually, golden sparkles started to appear in the middle of the pentacle, looking almost like flakes of glitter.

China and Russia both watched the middle intently, trying to make out what the form was turning out to be. They realized that they hadn't decided who would win the bet if the spell actually worked.

France, in the meantime, took the binoculars and dashed over to the cliff. "Britain! I think the spell is working! America is sparkling like a gay vampire!" He ran back, not wanting to miss any of the action.

Britain simply nodded and continued to chant. His head was swimming. He felt like he was getting drunk but without the fun part of not caring about what's happening to you. He didn't feel that way, just woozy and uncomfortable.

"Something is appearing in the pentagram!" China exclaimed. "It looks like-"

It was shaped like America... until it crumpled to the ground in a heap. The golden glitter vanished.

"What the crapski?" said Russia mildly.

Britain went white. "Bollocks! How did that not work? _How did that not work?_" He snatched the binoculars from France and ran for the cliff edge.

"Stop!" shouted France, who had realized what had happened. "Britain! That is almost definitely not a good idea...!"

But it was too late. Britain had put the binoculars to his eyes and found America.

"Oh, dear," said France. Next to him, Britain had made a gulping noise, dropped the binoculars, and fainted. A line of blood was running from his nose down his chin.

China and Russia were arguing heatedly over whether or not this constituted as a failure or a misfire.

America's clothes had come without him.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

Germany was just going to check up on the prisoner. He took one look at America and went bright scarlet.

"_What the hell happened with you?_" he yelled, putting an arm across his eyes. "Why are you_ naked?_"

"I don't know!" America hollered back. "I was just sitting here and all my clothes disappeared! If any of you had something do with this I swear to God I'm going to-"

Japan appeared next to Germany. "Sometimes that happens when you spend time around France," he pointed out. "Perhaps he is nearby."

"Hey, guys... what's going on...?" Italy had wandered up. Germany spun around and slapped a hand over Italy's eyes.

"Go away and do not look," Germany ordered. "_Now._"

Italy kept his eyes closed as he drifted away. "Why? Is it a surprise? Is it...?"

"Well, then," said Germany. "Obviously something strange has happened here."

"Yeah, no sh-" America started to say, but Germany had stomped off. He came back holding a green uniform.

"You will put this on," commanded Germany.

America made a face. "Ew! Is that _yours?_ No frikking _way!_ I'm not wearing a kraut uniform! I'd rather stay naked!"

"_Put the gottverdammten thing on!_"

"All right, all _right_," muttered America. "Whatever. But, you're gonna have to untie me to do that, okay?"

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

Britain lay awake that night, unable to enjoy the extra blankets that resulted from America's absence. He was suffering from a multi-layered headache, wounded pride, and a feverish lightheadedness from too much magic and also partly from all the alcohol he'd downed to try to forget what he had seen.

He rolled to his side, pulling the sheets around him tighter, and then found that his nose was now poking into someone's chest. He froze, made a horrified strangled noise in his throat, and wondered if he should scream for backup. Then he looked up and saw who it was, and nearly screamed anyway.

"Yo," said America. "What's up, bud?"

"_What. The. Hell?_" Britain hissed.

America chuckled and shifted to a more comfortable position. "You shoulda seen your limey face," he said. "It was that one you make when you're _really_ freaked out... Ah, I love that face. So funny."

"How did you...? You got away...?"

"Naw, dude!" America grinned. "I'm not America, see? I'm America's ghost. Ha, there, you made that face again..."

Britain looked horrified. "You're his _ghost? _He's _dead?_" His expression became one of anguish. "It's all my fault!" he moaned. "If only I'd come up with a plan that actually worked! I'm so sorry, America! It's my fault you're dead!" He buried his face in America's shirt.

"Jesus, Britain, you gotta chillax. I'm not dead, okay?"

Britain paused. "You're not?"

"You know, 'ghost' was probably the wrong word. More like... I don't know... 'essence' or 'soul' or something badass like that. 'Cause, if I actually _was_ a ghost, that'd be all weird and freaky and, like, not good."

"So, America's not dead?" Britain looked more closely at this America's shirt and noticed that he could see right through it. He stared at it in a kind of fascinated disgust.

"Nope. America is definitely not dead."

Britain let go of the ghostly shirt and flopped onto has back, crossing his arms and pulling a face. "Well, in that case, I don't see why _you're_ here. In fact, you're probably nothing more than a trauma-induced hallucination."

America's not-ghost found this funny. "Hahaha! Britain's trippin'! Britain's trippin'!" He poked Britain in the side, and to Britain's annoyance the finger felt quite solid.

"Get out of my bed," said Britain stiffly. "Or my brain. Whichever."

"What's option C?" the spirit asked.

Britain thought about it. "Tell me why you're here."

The not-ghost of America propped himself up on an elbow and looked at Britain with surprisingly gentle eyes. "A reminder."

"Reminder of what?" Britain felt like he was being pinned to the mattress with two sky blue, bespectacled tools of hypnotism.

America's spirit smiled and leaned over Britain. "Of _me_, I suppose," he said, and Britain's cheeks flamed. _What the hell's happening?_ he thought. The not-ghost of America reached around and took hold of something behind Britain's head.

And then he sat up, having yanked the sheets out from under Britain. The spirit of America flashed a cheeky smile and then jumped to his feet. "Catch ya later," he smirked, and then took off down the beach, with all of Britain's bedsheets trailing behind him, flapping in the breeze. And he was laughing his head off.

"You wanker!" Britain shrieked. "Give me back my blankets! That's not _funny!_" He tried to get up to chase America but his limbs felt uncommonly heavy. "I hate you!" he yelled. "I bloody _hate_ you, America! I-"

Before he could yell any more, Britain woke up with a start.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

"What did I tell you, _Angleterre_?" France was saying, wagging a finger at him. "I come over to wake you up and _what_ do I hear you mumbling in your sleep? 'America' this, 'America' that..."

"What...?" said a disoriented Britain, wondering why the sky was still dark. "No, no... he stole my-" Then he noticed what France was holding as he was standing over the mattress. "Er. Blankets?" he finished. _Oh._ _Just a dream, then. A mad, weird dream._

"Ah. There you are," China said, appearing from Britain's left. "Now get up. We have been working on a new plan to retrieve America."

"Without me?" Britain groaned. "What time is it? It's not even morning yet."

"Exactly," said China. "That is why it will work. We catch them when they are sleeping."

Britain shook his head groggily. He had a terrible hangover. "But... someone's bound to be standing guard..." he said.

"That is part of the plan," said China, dragging Britain to his feet. "I thought you would be happy that we are going to try to rescue America. Now are you coming or not?"

"I hate America," mumbled Britain.

"I think we'll take that as a no," said Russia. "Never mind. We go without him."

**_-Britain's- (crossed out) China, France and Russia's Rescue Plan Journal!_**

**_Plan F!: The Tranquilizer Dart!_**

America felt very clever indeed. After they'd given him some space to put on Germany's spare uniform, he'd managed to slip a hairpin in his pocket. It was going to work even better than the nail. Now he had spent the whole night trying to get the pin into the padlock around his chains and figure out what this whole 'picking a lock' thing was all about.

It had been at least two hours before he realized which way to stick the hairpin. And then, it had been another two hours trying to pick the pin off the ground after he'd dropped it when he was nearly spotted by Japan.

Eventually, though, he had wormed it into the lock and was simply working it, trying to find the right combination of motions to get the damn thing open. His hand hurt a bit from having to stay in such a contorted position for so long, but he ignored it and concentrated on getting out.

There was a _click..._

"Oh my god, no _way!_" America whispered. "This is _supremely awesome!_"

The padlock fell open at his feet.

America very slowly unwrapped the chains, like a small child opening a giant Christmas present that is too good to be real. He couldn't _wait_ to see all of the Allies' expressions. Especially Britain's. He would make _that face_, that surprised face... it was going to be _epic..._

On the cliff, the three nations were trying to get some room.

"How many times did you practice this?" China asked.

"Oh, lots of times. Do not worry." Russia held up a little contraption that looked very much like a miniature handgun-sized crossbow made out of sticks. It had rubber bands wound all around it and a little dart sticking out of the end. "This is old joke of mine. I have fun with this when Latvia is around." He held out the little gun and steadied it with his other hand. "It gets so boring in my house sometimes."

"All right... wait, is that Germany over there? Look, isn't that him? I can just make out the uniform..."

"Ah!" said Russia. "Got it!" He clicked the trigger. There was a soft snapping noise and a rustle.

America was halfway to the cliff when he felt a little sting on his back. "What the...?" he started to say, and then his vision fuzzed, and he fell to the ground with a thump, entirely unconscious.

"Wait a minute," said China. "I don't see America by his tree..."

France stole the binoculars and stared. "That wasn't Germany!" he said. "That is America! How did he get out of the chains? Why is he wearing Germany's clothes?"

"Never mind why!" China hissed. "Let's run down and get him before the Axis notices!"

"But if that was not Germany then the guard is still..." France was scanning the area frantically. "Ah... Well..." He turned to the others with a pained expression. "You know, if Britain was here, there is something he would say right now."

"What's that?" asked China.

"_Bughairr_," said France. His accent mangled the word a little but the point was well taken. China silently took the binoculars back and looked down.

Germany was just returning from the forest, where he had been relieving himself. He saw America lying facedown on the sand and charged over, calling to the others. In the time it took to say, "what an epic fail" America was shackled to the tree once again, in about twice as many chains as before.

The Allies sat in their lookout, eyes rather wide.

"I couldn't see anything in this dark," said China defensively.

"China told me to shoot," Russia said. "Not my fault."

"He was _wearing_ the _uniform_," China went on. "How could I have _known?_"

France just shook his head slowly.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

Unbeknownst to the other Allies, Britain did _not_ fall back into a drunken stupor. He was too angry to go back to sleep, anyway.

"I'm going to make that damn Axis pay for all this," he said to himself. "This is all their fault."

Well, technically, it was America's fault, for having them make a fire which then told the Axis where they were, but he'd already gotten his. Britain wanted revenge for what had happened afterwards. And since he couldn't storm up to the Pearly Gates and lob a stink bomb at God himself, he was going to have to make do with the Axis.

It made him furious to think of how little trouble they'd had this whole time. America hadn't even annoyed them to death yet. Those idiots just sat and relaxed and ate food as if this was a vacation instead of a war.

He wanted them to have an idea of the kind of trouble he was putting up with. And there was something he'd been preparing all this time. Even before America had been captured, he'd been testing its strength. Thus...

**_Plan G!: The Discord Spell!_**

Because, honestly, those were easy. It didn't take much to make people start hating each other. Most of the time, people did anyway, and all you had to do was encourage it a little.

"Let's see... what do we need?" Britain thumbed through his spell book. "Two handfuls of gunpowder... we've got that... a pinch of salt... well, there's the ocean right there, so plenty of that... something sour... something bitter... spiders..." He paused. "Why spiders? That's a bit nauseating." But he shrugged and kept reading. "And... of course... _accurséd marshmallows_..."

He lifted up the charred logs in the fire pit and put them aside. The symbol he'd made three nights ago was still there, burned into the sand.

Britain laid out the ingredients neatly as he fetched them. Soon, the spell was ready. He found a suitable pot and stuffed everything inside with some water, put fresh logs over the symbol, and lit the fire.

Then he cleared his throat and began to recite the incantation.

"_Bring on the fire, bring on the hell,_

_Set everything ablaze so that no trace remains,_

_Bring on the fire, bring on the hell..._"

**~TO BE CONTINUED~**

**(Cue credits and ****_Marukaite Chikyuu_****, Britain's version)**


	5. In Which Britain Makes a Brave Sacrifice

**Chapter 5: In which there are Coconuts of Hate, a spellbook is snarky, the Allies nearly die laughing, and Britain makes a brave sacrifice which finally works.**

As the three Allies slumped back to the Beach of FDJ, France saw that Britain was awake, and seemed to be preparing breakfast. Alarmed (think 'Britain' plus 'cooking' and tell me if _you_ wouldn't be), he rushed over.

"Well, hello, France," said Britain, turning around. He had a calm smile on his face. "I was just making myself a pot of tea. You didn't manage to rescue America, did you? No? How unfortunate." He unhooked the teapot from the spit over the fire and set it on the sand. "Well, next time, I suppose. Would you like some?" He held up the kettle.

"No thank you," said France warily, which was exactly as Britain had expected. "I will pass for now."

"All right. Well, I've got to go check up on something," Britain said. "I'll be back in a jiffy."

France nodded distractedly. "Shall I make the food?"

"Yes, why don't you do that?" agreed Britain. "That stew yesterday was quite nice." He wandered away.

China sat down in front of the fire and warmed his hands. "We are going to have to decide what we are going to do about the demands the Axis made. If we cannot retrieve America, then we must face the possibility of-"

"Surrender?" finished France. "I suppose we could manage it..."

"That is not what I was going to say," said China. "I was going to say, leaving him behind."

"At least we should consider some form of diplomacy," France argued. "And I am not so sure _l'Angleterre_ would be willing to..."

"Well, there is still the question open," Russia told them. "We have to decide just how valuable America is to us."

"But it is not just about him as an ally," France explained. "There is the problem of the land and resources he possesses. If he dies, what will become of them?"

"Could I have them?" Russia asked hopefully.

"I think it is more likely that the Axis will take control of at least part of him," China said. "And that is not a good thing at all. But if we do not..."

In the back of France's mind, something struck him as odd.

"Britain _complimented_ me..." he said aloud. "And he was smiling in that creepy way ... and he did not sound upset when he found out the plan had failed... and _he took the teapot with him..._"

Realization hit like a hammer. "China! Russia! This is terrible! We must return to the cliff _immédiatement_!" France leaped to his feet. "Britain has had another idea!"

**(****_Cue opening credits_****)**

"This spell can't _possibly _latch on to America," Britain reassured himself. "It only works if you drink the potion, after all. And besides, even if he did drink it, what's the worst that could happen? He would just start hating everyone for a little while. Who cares?" He stalked through the forest, taking a different route this time, one that would lead him around the cliff and to the forest near the Axis camp.

"Now," he said aloud. "How on Earth am I going to get the Axis to drink my potion? I can't just walk up there and pour it on their food like last time."

He sat down under a tree and thought hard about it. Where would they get drinks from, besides their supplies? Not the ocean - it was too salty. So what...?

The wind stirred the trees, and something hard hit him right on the head.

"Ow! Blast it! What was that?" He jumped up, and then saw the brown object lying on the ground next to him.

It was like he was Isaac Newton, discovering gravity. Britain picked up the coconut and turned it over and over in his hands. Then he looked into the pot and saw the white potion - white because of the melted marshmallows he'd added. Even the smell wasn't too far off...

So Britain got out his pocketknife, found the three holes on the fruit, and set about making a Coconut of Hate.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

In the Axis camp, Germany was trying to wake Italy up, Italy was trying to stay asleep, and Japan was off gathering fruit for breakfast.

"Italy! Why do you always need to sleep so late? Get your lazy ass up right now!"

"Don' wannaa..." Italy slurred happily, turning over onto his stomach. "Sleepy..."

"We are fighting a var!" shouted Germany. "You cannot take a siesta!"

The little nation waveringly sat up. "Oh... kay... Ger... many..." he said, swaying a little as he spoke. Germany caught Italy before his head crashed back down to the pillow, and picked him up by his shirt.

"Wake up," he ordered, shaking Italy.

"I _am_ awaaaake..." said Italy, sounding as if he was hypnotized. He did not seem to be concerned by Germany's manhandling of him.

"How can you be awake? Your eyes are not even open!"

Italy tilted his head. "What...?" he asked sleepily.

"Never mind," Germany grumbled, and put the nation down. Italy never had his eyes open. "Go and prepare some food."

"_Si_... food... I like food..."

Germany watched as Italy tottered away, thinking, _I will never understand him_.

Within the hour, Japan had returned to the camp, holding an armful of fresh fruit. "_Ohayou, Doitsu-san_," he said. "Good morning, Germany."

"_Guten morgen,_ Japan. Is there something on your mind?"

Japan frowned. "Yes. How much more time do you think the Allies will take to respond?" he asked, placing the fruit on the sand. "It has been three days since we captured America. So far, they have not shown any sign of surrendering. Do you think we might want to lower the terms?"

"_Nein_. If they do not surrender, then they will have to fight the war without America. No exceptions."

"In that case," said Japan, "Why don't we extract information from him?"

Germany seemed a bit uneasy. "I would try," he said. "But I do not think he knows much. He is not very clever, and... and the Allies would not tell him anything that would compromise their security. Why waste time with needless, er, brutality?" That last bit had come out sounding slightly defensive, and he shot a glance over at the last member of the trio, busy making breakfast by the firepit.

Japan sighed. "You do not want to torture America because you are afraid of what Italy-san might think."

Germany looked away and muttered, "That is irrelevant to the situation."

If anything, Japan sounded exasperated when he responded, "All right. We will wait and see what happens today."

Italy called them over for breakfast. He'd made some strange-looking omelets out of toucan's eggs. Japan passed out some of the fruit he'd gathered.

After a little while, Germany noticed Italy having some trouble with his coconut. "Italy, you do not open the shell. There are holes that you can drink through if you puncture them..." He held up his own coconut and showed his ally the top of his own fruit.

"Oh! Right, of course!" Italy grinned sheepishly and proceeded to spill the coconut milk all over his shirt as he tried to copy the other's actions.

Germany put a hand over his face in annoyance. "_Gott_, Italy, why can't you do things without making a mess?" he demanded.

"Sorry, Germany." Italy didn't look sorry. "It tastes good, though!" He gave Germany another huge smile.

As Germany sat and drank the milk and watched Italy, a very strange feeling started to come over him. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was making him a little uncomfortable.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

Britain was just settling down to watch the action when the other three Allies came leaping into the scene. Immediately he found himself grabbed by the shirt and hoisted to his tiptoes by an hysterical France.

"What were you thinking?" the nation hissed, shaking Britain. "I looked for you everywhere! You could have been captured as well, and what would we do then? What is wrong with you, _Angleterre_? Haven't you noticed that none of your stupid plans and your stupid magic spells are working?"

And Britain, of course, reacted as he knew best. "Get off me, you baguette-eating bastard! Let me go!" He pummeled France in the head and managed to free himself. "How dare you lay hands on me!"

"_Angleterre_..." France pleaded.

"I've... I've got every right to try to help my friend! I'm getting America out of there and if it kills me, then so be it!"

"France and Britain!" China exclaimed, looking around nervously. "We are too close to the Axis camp to be shouting like this!"

The arguing nations ignored him. "I think you are still drunk," said France, folding his arms haughtily. "And that is no condition to be working spells!"

"I'm not drunk! And... and I wasn't working spells, either!"

France studied Britain's face as if expecting to see his nose grow longer at this blatantly obvious lie. "Not working spells, hmm? Then what is that? Very strong tea?" He pointed at the tea kettle on the ground, which was whistling as it dissolved.

"_Very_ strong," murmured China, adding, "I invented tea, you know."

"Agh!" Britain shot over to what was left of the kettle and stamped on it, causing steam to rise up from his boots. Then he tried to smile nonchalantly. "Er... that's wasn't anything... ah... _magical_, France... ahahaha... why would you ever think that, old chap?"

France reached inside his cloak and held out Britain's grimoire. "Then this is what...? A cookbook? What page was this open to? '_A spell to cause discord_'... how interesting..."

"Give me that!" Britain shouted, tackling France.

China, in a panic, did something that was not very well-thought-out. He turned to Russia. "_Do something!_" he begged. "We're going to be spotted!"

The huge nation grinned and patted China on the head. Then he reached over and picked up Britain in one hand and France in the other. "Hey," he said. "Listen to me, you two."

They both froze. "Ulp," said Britain.

Russia wore his usual too-wide smile. "That's better. Quiet like mice is very good. Do you know what else is quiet? Dead people are quiet. Isn't that funny? I do not think you would like me to make you quiet. So no shouting, _da?_" Still smiling, he put them down.

Both Britain and France were looking at each other as if glad to still be alive after that, and slightly unsure of whether this status would change at all.

Then Britain glanced at the melting tea kettle. "It's a bit stronger than I expected," he murmured. "That's not really supposed to happen."

France cleared his throat and thumbed through the spell book. "Listen to this... '_Emotion Spells... there are some caveats to using spells to cause emotional changes, since one strong emotion can easily turn into another..._'"

"I've read all the blasted warnings!" Britain whispered angrily. "It's my damn book, all right?"

"'_Never replace one kind of flower with another... never prepare food at the same time as your spell... never mix an emotion spell with coconut milk..._' That's random... well, never mind that... And here we have, '_never-_'"

"_What_," said Britain hoarsely, "did it say about coconuts?" He snatched the book away and read the page over again. "I've never seen this warning before! Where did this come from?"

"Well, it is a book of magic," said China. "Does it sometimes rewrite itself, by any chance?"

Britain read aloud, in utter disbelief, "'_Never mix an emotion spell with coconut milk, as experimentation with this has shown that it often REVERSES the effect of the spell entirely..._'" He looked up. "What?" he exclaimed. "Since _when?_"

France peeked over his shoulder and pointed at a block of text that Britain seemed to have misread. It now said, '_... as recent amateurish experimentation done by Britain with this has shown..._'

"Honhonhon... even the _book _does not like your magic," said France, gloating a little. "You ought to take it's advice, _mon ami._ So, how exactly did coconuts get involved in this spell?"

"I was trying to get them to drink it so they'd hate one another," growled Britain. "I put it in coconuts and left them out for Japan to find." He kicked a tree. "After all my bloody hard work on this spell! Of course it had to be coconuts!"

"What exactly would be the opposite of a discord spell?" China wondered.

Britain shrugged. "Well, it makes people hate each other, so I suppose the reverse spell would be..." He stopped. "A..." he tried. "It would be a..."

"A what?" asked China.

Britain seemed to be on the verge of either a scream of disgust and horror, or hysterical laughter. _"Someone tell me I didn't just spike the Axis's coconuts with a sodding love potion_," he said quietly.

No one rose to the challenge. They were all to busy trying to get the best view of the beach, because they couldn't imagine missing what would happen next.

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

"Japan! Are you sure you don't want one of these?" Italy held up a coconut. "They're really nice!"

"No, I am full, thank you," said Japan, waving off Italy's offer.

Italy shrugged and stuck the coconut in the sand. He was feeling a little bit strange and tipsy, but in a sort of good way. It made him want to wander over to the part of the beach where Germany was sitting.

"Germany looks upset about something," Italy said to himself. "I should try to make him feel better! _Ehi,_ Germany! Are you okay?"

The poor befuddled nation looked up. "Please stay away, Italy," he said weakly. "I think I am coming down with something and I would not want you to get sick as well."

Italy immediately was stricken with uncommon sympathy. "Oh, no! Poor Germany! Your face is so red... It's probably too much sun. Why don't you go sit in the shade and I'll get you some water, okay?" He put his arms around Germany's shoulders and attempted to lift him up, which didn't really work given the disparity of size between the two. In the end, Germany simply stood up by himself and let Italy lead him towards the trees.

He slumped against the trunk of a tall palm. The truth was, it didn't really _feel_ like he was sick. But he didn't feel normal, either. And it was, for some reason, connected to...

"Here you go!" Italy said kindly, handing Germany one of their thermoses. "Nice fresh water, hey?" He sat down next to Germany and watched him drink as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Germany let Italy crawl under his arm and nuzzle into his side - this was fairly normal behavior anyway, and besides, he found himself (guiltily) enjoying it. But then Italy began to stroke the other's chest a little, like he was petting a cat.

"Vot are you doing?" asked Germany uneasily.

"Nothing," said Italy, with a wide (flirtatious?) smile. He snuggled closer, letting out a happy sigh. "Heh... Germany's so nice..."

Eventually the oddness of it all became too much for Germany. "I... er... Italy, why are you acting like this?"

Instead of answering, Italy propped himself up as far as he could and gave Germany a quick kiss on the cheek.

_Don't get worked up about it,_ Germany told himself in a slightly panicky way. _It's how they greet each other in his country... it doesn't mean anything... No freaking out there, Deutschland..._

"Hey, Germany? You know what?" Italy asked. "I think me and Germany should get married!"

_Never mind that! Time to freak out, ja!_ "Why... er... would you say that kind of thing... Italy...?"

The nation beamed. "Because I love Germany so much and I want to be his wife!"

Germany choked on his own spit. "_Mein_... w_ife_? But... you are a man!"

"I know! So are you!" said Italy cheerfully, patting Germany on the back. "That's why I'll be the wife! Someone's got to do it, right?"

In the bushes not too far away, the four Allies were writhing on the forest floor in silent mirth. Russia was pounding on the ground with a fist, and China was practically eating his own arm in an attempt to stifle the laughter. France and Britain were completely overcome, clinging to each other through their hysterical soundless fits, all past rivalry and dislike forgotten.

"I think... I'm going... to die..." gasped Britain. "I can't..." He gestured wildly. "Breathe..."

Unhelpfully, France found this funnier than ever. "You look... so red..." he wheezed, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. "Like... a tomato..."

"Have to... stay... quiet..." Britain managed. "Can't be... caught..." He pressed his hands to his head and tried to think somber thoughts. _Grey hospital curtains_, he told himself frantically. _Drizzly London mornings... soggy biscuits... sad puppies..._

_Think sad puppies, damn it!_

**~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~**

It got worse.

Japan was, at first, not aware of what was going on with the other two members of the Axis. He had been standing guard over America. Japan still didn't know how he'd gotten out before, and wasn't going to take any chances.

So, it was actually America who alerted him to what was going on. The Allied nation was slumped against the tree, pouting about not having any video games to play, and then he shot up straight, his eyes going very wide.

"Ew!" he shouted. "Ew! Bleh! Gross! You didn't say they were _dating!_"

Japan turned around and nearly died of shock and nosebleed.

Ten minutes later he was blushingly informed that Germany and Italy were going to get married, and have ten children (as to how... well, he just couldn't bring himself to ask), and this and that, and true love, and pasta, and on and on...

It was absolutely frightening. But... perhaps Westerners were like that, reflect Japan, in a state of rational shock. He heard that arranged marriages were less common in the West (and that the divorce rate was higher). Maybe they did just fall in love and get married on a whim... unless they were in heat...? Did that happen to nations?

As he sat on the sand in a cold sweat, Japan heard Germany say sternly, "If we are going to be married, the first thing we must do is to conquer all of the lands in between our nations. I will not have that annoying gap in the way like with the Polish Corridor. Too sloppy, _ja?_"

"Of course, Germany! That's so romantic! You can do that and I'll make a wedding cake out of pasta and put white flags on top!"

At this, Japan heard a muffled sort of choking sound coming from the trees, snapping him out of his daze. A realization hit him like a falling Coconut of Hate/Love.

Slowly he reached back and found his sword hilt, and slid the blade out of its sheath. And then he dove for the bushes. "Show yourself!" said Japan fiercely. "This was your doing, wasn't it? Germany! Italy! The Allies are here!"

Britain and France found themselves being bore down upon by a very angry-looking Japan wielding a long, sharp katana, and suddenly the situation was not very funny anymore.

Especially since they'd forgotten their weapons back at the camp.

And then it just got worse when a furious Germany appeared at Japan's right, holding a pistol, and even more so when China was whacked along the side of the head with the flat of Japan's sword, and also when France was punched in the face by Germany. There was also the part where the Allied nations realized that Russia had vanished like a car from a crime scene, and when Germany caught Britain in a headlock and dragged him struggling out onto the beach, and when France and China reached a tenuous stalemate in their fight with Japan, which meant they were unable to help.

"One would 'ave thought that 'e would not be this violent after the love spell," France murmured, backing away from the point of the katana.

Britain raised himself to his knees and coughed up sand. "He thinks he's protecting Italy," he wheezed. "It's _love_. You of all people should know about that; you always claim to know everything about love, don't you?"

"Where is Russia?" China asked furiously, holding out a large stick for what defense it gave. "He just ran away like stupid coward! He is going to be very sorry when I see him next!"

"No, he isn't," said Britain. "He'll stare at you creepily and you won't do anything, isn't that right?"

"Very true," agreed France, dodging the blade of Japan's sword.

It looked like the worst possible thing that could have happened, had. But, to Britain, all of that felt like nothing when he looked up and saw Germany pointing his gun in America's ear.

"_None of you Allies move!_" Germany bellowed. "Or else I will destroy him!"

"You can't do that!" America wept. "I'm the hero! You can't kill the hero!"

"Unless this is one of those tragic genre movies where the hero _does_ die," Japan pointed out. "Like in _Titanic_."

"Don't remind me!" America wailed. "I cried so bad when I saw that!"

Japan frowned. "How can you have? The actors haven't even been born yet."

"Then how do _you_ know about it?" demanded America.

"Oh. It is because I use an off-the-radar video bootlegging website like Megavideo, only in Japanese."

"Not bad," America admitted. "Good service."

"Indeed," said Japan. He bowed. "It is quite technological..."

Germany stamped his foot. "All right, that's enough," he growled impatiently. "Now, it seems that the Allies are not willing to agree to our terms and surrender, which means that we have no other option but to carry out our threat." He pressed the gun to America's head, who went pasty white.

"I agree," said Japan. "They have been using sorcery against us and breaking the conventions of honorable warfare."

"How is murdering a defenseless, chained-up nation in cold blood _honorable?_" Britain burst out. "This is only a war! We're not about _killing _each other here, just redistributing other, less important nations' land and resources!"

"Actually, I was sort of hoping for world domination," Germany told him, shrugging a little.

"_Oui_, of course he was..." hissed France, who knew firsthand. "Didn't you _notice_, you stupid... _wanc-hair?_"

"Hang on. You just used a _British_ swear word on me," Britain said, momentarily distracted. "You just..."

"Your language is the most foul," said France haughtily. "Mine is far too delicate to convey such vulgarity."

Britain spun back around and faced Germany. "You can't just kill America! It's not... it's not fair!" To his horror, his voice cracked.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Italy hiding behind a box of supplies, and just caught the flash of sympathy in his eyes.

_They're still under the spell_, Britain realized.

"Why is it not fair?" Germany demanded. "Why shouldn't I kill him?"

And Britain, feeling very lightheaded, fell to his knees. What he was about to do, the whole damn world seemed to have been pushing him to do it all along. And somehow it gave him a sense of dizzying relief to give in. He almost wanted to laugh out loud.

Perhaps he _was_ still drunk, he reflected.

"Because..." Britain tried to channel all the best actors in his country. There were so many of them; surely he would have picked up some of their talent. "Because I'm in love with him."

**_Britain's Rescue Plan Journal!_**

**_Plan H!: Be Madly In Love!_**

"Huh?" said America blankly. He slowly worked it out in his head. "You... love... me... _What?_"

Britain shot him a look that said, _I know what I'm doing, now shut up._ America closed his mouth and nodded warily.

"You're...?" Germany said, taken slightly aback.

Now was the time for the acting mode to kick in. Britain found it surprisingly easy. The revelation would have shocked him too, wouldn't it...? He managed a horrified gulp and stared at America as if willing him to have not heard, put a hand over his mouth as if that could keep out what had already been said.

"I..." _You're in emotional shock, you're horrified at the thought of losing him... you can't keep yourself under control... let's see..._ "I love... him..." he said haltingly. "I... you... please..." _Supplication..._ "Please don't take him away..." _Oh, that was good, right there. Nice one..._

"I will not be coerced by your sniveling!" shouted Germany.

_And that means he IS..._ Britain thought. _Perfect... now you'd be pulling your thoughts together, have something more coherent to say..._

"All this time... ever since you took him... couldn't eat... couldn't sleep..."

China's brow furrowed and he looked ready to object to this, but France shushed him. _Thank god for the frog_, Britain thought. _He knows what I'm doing..._

"It's been hell, utter hell... the thought of losing him..." He made himself look as helpless as possible. "I don't know why I didn't just..."

"Surrender?" asked Germany. "_Ja?_ If you love him so much, then why didn't you surrender?"

_God, this is so bloody easy..._ Britain thought. _This really could work!_

"Why _couldn't_ I?" he half-shrieked. "Because I'm... Just look at him!" He threw out a hand towards America. "And look at me! I... he would never love me! He's the hero, the future, and I'm.. I'm history! I couldn't just surrender... lose what chance I had... He'd hate me for it!"

"Yeah, and I _would_, too," said America. "That'd be, like, uber-lame of you. But thanks for the-"

"_Not helping,_" Britain hissed.

"Sorry," America whispered back.

"_Seriously_, America, you're just like one of those stupid people in the cinema who talk through all the sad bits of a film and absolutely ruin the mood," Britain added, slightly irritated.

"Aw," said America. "But you love me for it."

"Yes, madly," Britain told him, rolling his eyes. "It's _your_ life I'm saving. Do shut up."

"Sure thing."

Meanwhile, Italy came creeping up behind Germany and sniffled a little. "It's so _sweet_," he said mushily. "They argue so much but they really do care about each other..."

"Just like I always tell them," France said smugly. Britain glared at him.

"Italy, please," muttered Germany, pulling the other nation close. "They are our enemies... remember all the times they captured you and beat you up and fed you disgusting English food...?"

"But... but..." Italy trembled a little.

Now it was time for the _coup de grace_... (only Britain wasn't going to call it that since that was French). He coughed pitifully and looked up at them, letting tears come to his eyes. "Germany... please... imagine if it were Italy..."

Germany's facial muscles twitched, just a little.

"If it were him... and you were me..." Britain let his voice fade away to a hoarse whisper.

_And finally the shell cracks..._ he thought._ Like a bloody, bloody coconut... or a crab... Right, and I'm going to find that crab when I get back..._

The gun was being returned to its holster. Germany reached in his pocket for a key. "Fine," he said. "I vill let you go. Just this once." With reluctance, he opened the padlock on America's chains and slowly unwound them.

"What?" said Japan, a little taken aback. "What are you...?"

"Don't argue with this," Germany muttered. His eyes were damp.

_It worked..._ Britain thought. _I can't believe it really worked... no, I can. That was some top-notch acting, if I do say so myself..._

Then he remembered that it wasn't quite over yet. America was still sitting against the tree like he didn't quite know what to do with his limbs now that they weren't chained up.

Britain took a shaky step forward, and then knelt down and awkwardly put his arms around America and lifted him up.

"I've got a cramp," America muttered under his breath.

"Shut _up_..."

"Um... do we have to make out or something?" whispered America nervously.

After thinking it over, Britain licked his lips. "Er."

America swallowed. "Oh... then... should I, uh...?" He tipped his head to one side uncertainly.

"No," Britain told him hurriedly. "You don't love me back yet."

"Ah," said America. "Gotcha." Then he grunted. "Friggin' chains."

Britain turned and looked at Germany. The only thought forming in his mind now was, _He is going to be so angry when the spell wears off..._

He thought of everything he'd sacrificed for this... his physical health... his mental health... and now, his dignity. But somehow it was all right.

And with America draped limply over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes it would seem strange to say it, but right now, as the Allies walked back to the Beach of Freedom, Democracy, and Justice, Britain felt like a colossal weight had lifted off his back. He could have been walking on the moon.

**~ THE END ~**

**(Cue credits and ****_Marukaite Chikyuu_****)**

The Allies were just entering the woods when Russia popped up out of nowhere (as he tended to do).

"_You_," said China dangerously. "Where the _hell_ were you?"

_Well,_ Britain thought. _China actually went and told him off. And now, he's probably going to die._

"Do not worry," said Russia serenely. "I was not running away. I had you covered whole time." He held up the little tranquilizer crossbow.

"Oh," said China. "Well... all right, then. Sorry. Thank you."

"Was that what got me that time I escaped?" asked America curiously. "Dude, that's _seriously_ awesome."

"_Da._ I know, right?" said Russia. He looked pleased with himself. "I like to use it on Latvia when he isn't looking."

"Yes, we know," said Britain. "It's very nice."

"Quite clever," China agreed. "Did I mention I was sorry?"

**AN: And that's all, folks! Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. I hope you enjoyed the story, and I hope you review. Anything at all is nice to hear, even to quote your favorite bits. It's just the kind of thing that makes me happy and productive.**

**Another story complete! Let the fireworks begin.**


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